2000
by lege et lacrima
Summary: Written as a project for English. Stimulus: A picture of hands in manacles. Where is Mr. Parson's zealous daughter in the future? -Legs-


2000

"He asked me if I was ready, and then... and then..." I burst into tears. Perfectly executed tears. A sob in the right place, a cough, and then the wipe of the eyes to show how strong you are, that's all it takes, and you've got it made.

Comrade Worthington put his hand out and placed it on my arm in what I could only assume to be a comforting gesture. "There, there, Comrade Parsons..."

I sobbed again.

"... Wicks is going away for a _long_ time. You've no need to worry."

I looked up at him and smiled sweetly, my insides turning in on themselves in repulsion at this falsity. "Oh, thank you... If I knew he was plotting rebellion against the Party all this time, I never would have..." – another peal of tears – "I never would have married him!"

Worthington nodded. "I understand. In a normal case, we would be forced to consider you as an accessory to treason, but in these circumstances, I think we'll be able to forgive you. As Inner party members, both of us, I think..."

I knew where he was going with this.

"I think, if you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."

I nodded, my face still streaked with wet patches, to indicate that I knew where he was going with this.

He nodded back. We understood each other. "First, though," he said, "I'd like you to come with me. Do you want to see a real punishment?"

"Wicks?" I asked in response.

"Wicks. This, I believe, will be your first torture viewing, Comrade Parsons."

"Yes, it will be."

"Well, you're in for quite a treat, then."

We stood up, and Worthington turned the knob on the thick, white door, leading us out into the dark corridor. As a rule, the corridors had to be dark in the Miniluv these days. Since 1990, they said, Eastasian spies had become more prevalent, and so everything had to be dark so they couldn't see what was going on. But honestly, everyone in the Inner Party knew that it was to cut back on electricity usage so we had enough juice to keep Project Jupiter going. Very few people knew what Project Jupiter _really_ was; the front for the Outer Party was that they were exploring space travel, and that's what most of the Inner Party thought as well. They didn't know any better. Neither did I.

But when I married Stephen Wicks, that's when it got interesting. He was high up in the Party, a defence technician. He was working on Jupiter. He told me of an ancient civilization, long before the Party and the Revolution, called the Romans. I didn't ask how he knew about them; I just presumed it stemmed from his position of power. He said that the Romans didn't have _one_ leader, but many, many leaders. They called them "Gods", he said. But even amongst the "Gods", there was one above them all, and his name was Jupiter. And Jupiter's main feature was that he threw thunderbolts from the sky down on people or things that he didn't like. Obliterated, just like that. In other words, he had absolute control.

Well, I thought that Big Brother already had absolute control over us, but Stephen said that wasn't the point. The point was to have absolute control over the whole world. Our allies Eurasia, and our enemies Eastasia. Everyone. And how were they going to do this?

With the mechanical equivalent of the Roman "God" Jupiter. A machine that sent thunderbolts from the sky to smite any enemies of the Party.

The more that I thought about it, the more ingenious it seemed. I wanted to be a part of it. It excited me. The thought of being able to stop anything in the world from actually happening filled me with a strange feeling of exhilaration.

Stephen told me that I would never be good enough to use the finished product. I was only 26. Sure, I'd made a quick ascension into the Inner Party, but really, I wouldn't have the authority to be involved in the Project for at least another 5 years, and by then it would be too late. But he had a plan. He told me of how we could "appropriate" Project Jupiter for our own use. He told me how, if we used the right methods, we could have absolute control, and not Big Brother. He told me how we could bring down the Party.

At the time, it had been a shock to the system. I had always been a loyalist to the Party. I was a troupe leader in the Spies. I had turned my own parents over to the Thought Police. I made more arrests than any other in my time in the Spies, in fact. I was, in essence, a model Comrade. But this idea of absolute power, it really got to me. I thought that if Wicks and I could be bigger than the biggest Brother of them all, then our lives would be improved for the better.

It was never going to work out. We were too different. Stephen was full of all these revolutionary ideas about how we could improve life, and I was just a little girl who dreamt about being the Queen of the World.

And that's probably why Worthington believed me when I told him that I was innocent. As if a poor, innocent girl like me could be an accessory to treason. As I said, I was a model. I was perfect. Worthington had seen me in action. He knew my potential. So he had offered me a route out.

This route was via the darkened corridor. We reached an elevator, and he swiped his card to let us in. The doors swished open, and we got in. He pressed a round, glowing button numbered "-10".

"The torture chamber where Wicks is being held is on basement negative ten," he informed me.

"What's going to happen to him?" I asked. I was filled with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. I had never seen anyone be tortured before, and had been looking forward to the experience since about the age of six. On the other hand, Stephen was – had been – my husband. I felt a reasonable facsimile of love for him. Love is something that they say only exists for the Proles, but I know that's not so. And the pleasure of sex, they say that's a Prole thing too. But it isn't. Like most members of the Inner Party, I've done some pretty unorthodox things when the telescreen was switched off. Unlike most members of the Inner Party, these unorthodox things didn't involve prostitution or drugs. I have lived. But I've kept a facade. The Thought Police have never come for me. They know I'm a good girl.

They found out about Stephen. I don't know who dobbed him in, but it must've been one of his inferiors working on Jupiter. He was an easy man to read. Thank Big Brother for Worthington, though. If not for him, I'd be in torture chamber 10 with Stephen.

The elevator reached basement negative ten. We stepped out into the darkness. The corridors were narrow, and there was what appeared to be a gas canister hanging off the wall, which Worthington took in hand and ignited, letting up a smoky flame. He led the way down to corridor until we reached a metal door with a little slot for a piece of paper with the subject's name written on it. This piece of paper read "Former Comrade Stephen Wicks: Treason". I gulped.

Worthington noticed my nerves. "Not to worry, Comrade Parsons. Most people find their first time in the basement a little creepy, but you'll soon get over it."

He opened the door, and there I saw the most alarming sight I have ever seen. There he was, my husband, his hands and feet in manacles, chained to the wall. The blood was draining out of his arms, and his face was hanging limp, his eyes shut. As soon as Worthington closed the door behind us, his head jerked up, and he looked into my eyes, and I saw just how much he was suffering. I wanted to run up to him, to take him in my arms, to tell him it would all be okay. I couldn't. Not with Worthington there. I'd be strung up too. I bit my lip.

Worthington let out a small chuckle. "Back in the day," he began, grinning, "Torture would be done manually. You know, we'd actually get out the whips. These days, we have machines to do that. Just flick the switch, and boom. They came in around '85, I think. But I always like to add a personal touch."

I sunk my teeth further into my lip. I did _not_ want to know what that meant. But I was about to find out.

Worthington walked over to Stephen and lifted up his chin with his finger, glaring at him with a sadistic grin. "You're not happy to be down here, are you?"

"Fuck off..." he muttered in response.

Worthington slid his finger out from under his chin, letting his face snap sharply downwards again. "I'm afraid that isn't going to do," he said.

He turned back to me with a smile. "Your husband isn't going to die happy, I'm afraid. Remember what I said? I've scratched your back, now you'll do mine. I'm going to call in this one favour of you, and then you'll never hear from me again."

His eyes penetrated me with such pent-up lust, and I started to get really scared. What was I doing this for? It'd be better for all of us if I'd taken responsibility for the crime. Wicks could live, and I would suffer. Worthington approached me slowly, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Stephen moan with the realisation at what Worthington was about to do. It was sick. He was old enough to be my father.

Suddenly, I was filled with such a rush of adrenalin. I don't know what came over me. The whole time I had been fingering the heat gun in my back pocket nervously, and so I took a firm grasp on it, and pulled it out, pointing it square at Worthington.

He stopped in his tracks.

"You wouldn't."

I grinned. I could see just why he got so much enjoyment out of torture. "Don't worry, _Comrade_, I won't shoot you... yet."

His once-confident visage had soured. Worthington didn't carry a gun. None of the officials in the Miniluv did. It was against regulations, as they were trying to seem caring. I had managed to slip mine past security. Now I had the upper hand.

I quickly scanned the room, and pinpointed five strategically hidden security cameras. With what felt like one swift movement, I shot them all out with the heat gun. There was a slight fizzing noise with each one as it short-circuited, and melted plastic trickled down the walls.

Now, I pointed my gun at Worthington. I was getting myself and Stephen the hell out of there, even if it was the last thing I did. I hated to see him like that.

"You aren't going to; you can't!" Worthington yelled. "I'll give you one more chance, and you can get off scot-free! I'm telling you, if you shoot me, you'll live to regret it!"

I just stood there and smiled slightly.

"You shouldn't do this, Comrade Parsons!"

I raised my eyebrows and frowned. "It isn't Comrade Parsons. It isn't Comrade anything. It's Mrs. Wicks."

I pulled the trigger.


End file.
